


The Snow of Sundance

by Chellann_Nicollares



Series: Good Mythical Hunting [2]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Death, First Person, Folklore, Injury, M/M, Rhett POV, murder investigation, myth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chellann_Nicollares/pseuds/Chellann_Nicollares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously in Don’t Meet Your Hero: on the drive home from their dangerous mission, the good mythical hunting team briefly reminisced about Sundance. It was an extraordinarily painful experience for Link, and Rhett vowed to never let history repeat itself.<br/>So here’s what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yvette

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: inspired by Snowboarding at SUNDANCE 08 and True Story of Link’s Broken Pelvis, both on the main channel.  
> Wobbly attempt to emulate Rhett's writing style, please criticize liberally.
> 
> *This story is currently on hold while I finish "Rewritten" which is in a more complete stage than this fic. The rest of this story will come out in June, since I have to devote the entirety of May to exams and competitions. Thank you for reading so far!!*

**Prologue**

As much as my dearest Link would try to convince me otherwise, the events of January 2008 remain the most despicable manifestations of my sin. What I have done merit no excuse. The powers that had come over me were a vile magic, but as a man enlightened in the supernatural forces that alter the way of the world, I should believe that I was—and that I am even more so today—stronger than the dark influences exerted over me. But despite my brash confidence, as a conceited thirty year-old man, I have hurt and betrayed the gentlest, kindest, most beautiful and righteous person I have ever had the honor to know and love. Why he had requited the passions of a man as foolish as me, I could never fathom. Today, as I continue to be graced by his lovely company, I know that his wise and gracious heart had long forgiven me. However, I cannot say with any certainty that I had ever truly forgiven myself, or that I will ever be able to. And so, to put to rest the reprimands of my conscience that I still hear from time to time, the act of documenting my delirious state of mind and the absurd actions that it had propelled shall serve as my attempt at atonement.

My dear reader, what I am about to tell you might deeply change how you perceive me and how you will proceed to think of me. Only time will tell. But what I know as clearly as the spelling of my name, Rhett James McLaughlin, is that if I do not confront my worst sins, I can never bring a clean conscience to the final judgment of our lord and his heavenly grace. I hope that my barren prose remain a sincere introspection without deteriorating into a pathetic plead for forgiveness. I do not dare to ask for your forgiveness. The words that follow are but a confession.

 

**Chapter 1 Yvette**

The lovely morning of January 17, 2008 was brightened by pristine snow. I lingered in my hotel bed, reveling in the heavenly feeling of soft beddings warmed by the combined body heat of my lover and me, and lamented the need to start the day. I moved towards the edge of the bed, but the slender, muscular arm wrapped around my chest tightened and fixed me in place. I felt quite amused and I tickled his tanned skin, and I can still remember how he twitched slightly and relaxed with a groggy whimper. This is how I always woke up and how I still wake up every morning, in the embrace of a beautiful man who craves my company even in his dreams. Those self-acclaimed elites of our world who have accrued too much too early and boast of their luck shall be so lucky to spend a day in my life, in my lover’s love. The wonder and bliss that transcends material exchange will no doubt humble the richest and the most powerful.

My best friend had always looked breath-taking in his deep slumber, so I lingered by the bed to enjoy the sight of his sleeping complexion.

Few people have had the pleasure of indulging in Link’s beauty for hours on end without the obstruction of his lenses. I can say with pride that I am the only one who truly appreciate how elegantly those long, dark eyebrows sweep into his hair, how perfectly the shadow cast by his prominent brow bone accentuates the sensual depth of his irises, and how alluringly the thick, long fringe of lashes flutter and dance with every movement of his eyes. My blood brother is simply an extraordinary beauty. In that moment where I was indulging in my voyeuristic reverie, the way that his luscious pink lips were parted was so endearing, and so…inviting. I ached to wake him by some impulsive acts of passion, but I had very little time to exercise before our hectic agenda for the day. I extinguished my desire with dismay.

I pulled on my gym outfit quickly. As I was tying my battered and trusted tennis shoes, an impulsive idea amused me. I picked up my phone from the night stand and captured Link’s dreaming face with the camera. To this day I still constantly seek that photo from my gallery to remind myself of what I could have lost, and what I fortunately still have. I left a kiss on Link’s slumbering profile and went out the door.

The gym was pleasantly empty. As introverted as I am, I always enjoy exercising in quiet isolation. I never appreciate having to augment the volume in my headphones to drown out raucous conversations among the groups that I deem to be meat-heads, along with the clatter of their weight discs being rudely dropped onto the floor. On that fateful day, none of those characters were to be seen. As I was happily completing my routine of spraying disinfectant onto a paper towel and cleaning the handles on an elliptical, I saw her.

My dear reader, please allow me a brief departure from the painful reflection. As I proceed to describe the woman whose poisonous charm almost jeopardized my life, my love, and the very existence of the most important man in my world, you might be repulsed by how my recollection would be colored by the idiocy and delirium that had clouded my mind at the time. I apologize, but I must remain critically objective as I reflect upon what I have felt and what I thought I had seen. I must bare the full extent of the absurdity that had taken over me, and hope that seeing it in print at the present day lend me clarity and caution.

The woman was of average height and a lean, athletic stature. In that moment when I first saw her, she was wearing all white with a thick and long ponytail of glistening raven hair. I did find an entirely white gym outfit to be somewhat odd, but as a man attracted to both genders, I couldn’t help admiring the allure of her figure and the excellent muscle tone highlighted by the precise form with which she completed her weightlifting exercises. She moved to the resistance machine just when I stepped onto the elliptical on the opposite end of the room’s diagonal.

I recall being in an especially pleasant mood that morning. I was in beautiful Park City with my dearest friend, cultivating a business that most realistic and entrepreneurial minds would have thought impossible. We had supported each other through having to stash our dreams of studying film-making and instead endure the engineering curriculum for four years, but never for a day in the ivory tower of NC State did we dream to be wearing press passes like badges of honor and brushing shoulders with internationally acclaimed artists of the moving picture. What’s more, on top of the stimulating conversations and excellent cuisine, I had the pleasure of watching the most stunning man I have ever laid eyes on elegantly glide and leap through the snow during our leisure hours, and take that exquisite body into a frenzy of pleasure in those snow-muffled nights. It was the last morning that I truly had peace of mind at Sundance.

I glanced at my musical collection, scrolled past my usual choice of Raging against the Machine, and delved into the free-flowing melody of Chopin’s nocturnes interpreted by Brigitte Engerer. I was admiring the intricate finger work of the pianist and pacing my breaths with my steps when I caught the door opening in my peripheral vision and saw a well-built young man with short dreads walk in. From the way that he narrowed his eyes, lifted his chin and swayed his hips as he walked, I had leapt to the impression that I might soon have to endure the soundtrack of the gym floor being abused by free-falling weight discs. I tried to focus on the meditative melody in my ears and willed my legs to move faster.

I did not intend to observe the behavior of my accumulating companions, but the interaction between the dark-haired woman and the young man still caught my attention. I saw him walk over to the young lady—or so I thought she was—and make an effort to engage her in conversation. The woman did not turn to the man folding his arms in front of his chest, bouncing his leg in a skewed stance, and leaning his face towards her. I could not hear much of the conversation but I could tell by sideways glances that the rhythm and range of her pulls and dips had been interrupted, and her form had seemed unnaturally tense. After a brief moment, she had paused and dropped the pull handles, seemingly catching her breath, and the young man reached his hand towards her shoulder. The advance was clearly unwelcome since she took an abrupt step back to dodge the touch and almost stumbled into a bench. My body stopped moving. I turned my head and watched them with vigilance now. The young man with dreads moved again, and even though he had kept his hands to himself, he was placing his body in such a way that the woman was caught in between the bench and his front with very little space to maneuver. His intention had become clear, I though. Like an impulsive thirty-year-old with a contrived complex to right what he saw as wrong, I walked over to them. I was aware that the young man could easily be twice as strong as I was, presumably thanks to a lack of chronic back problems and severe limitations in muscle training. I was simply conceited enough to believe that my height could be a force of persuasion like it always seemed to have functioned.

“Hey guys, everything ok?” I started speaking before fully closing the distance between me and the other two.

The young man seemed surprised and annoyed. He turned and glowered at me, sizing me up with his glances. The young woman seemed more pleasantly surprised. She took the opportunity to slide away from the bench and the advancing man, and walk around the obstacle to face me.

“Hi, I’m Yvette. Yvette Kimura. Nice to meet you.” She said with a warm smile and held out her hand.

I have to admit that I was taken aback by her attractiveness for a split second. She had warm olive toned skin, delicate almond shaped eyes and small but full lips. Her irises were so dark that they were almost indistinguishable from her pupils, it was as if those eyes were in a perpetual state of arousal. All of a sudden I was acutely aware of my bisexuality, but I quickly gathered myself and extended my hand in return.

“Hi, I’m Rhett McLaughlin. I’m on the security staff. May I ask how you are enjoying our facilities?” I turned towards the young man while posing the question, hoping that my false identity would compensate for my lack of muscular intimidation.

“Ah…yeah…sure. Is all good.” The man narrowed his eyes angrily. He did not offer a self-introduction, but turned back towards Yvette and said “see ya” with a predatory wink. I was quickly losing patience with the man when he finally relented and sauntered towards the exit. I stared at him with anger until he disappeared through the door.

“Um…are you alright? I’m not really security. It’s just…he seemed to be bothering you. My name is real though.” I was flustered and embarrassed.

“Oh I could tell. I don’t think this place can afford to hire someone so gorgeous for security. You’re obviously an excellent actor. Do you have a piece screening?”

As embarrassed as I am now to admit, at the time I was overwhelmed by the straightforward compliment so confidently delivered and was probably dumbfounded for a second. “No, ma’am, I’m not an actor. I’m a web correspondent for Cadillac. Me and my partner both.” My testosterone had chosen the bigger and flashier brand name over the website that was our more direct supervisor.

“Well I’m sure you’re doing an excellent job. But if you’re ever interested in expanding your options, I would love to connect you with some opportunities. I’m an independent filmmaker and I also teach film theory at Wellesley. And I can assure you that you have the look and the talent to be a forceful presence in this industry.”

“Oh wow…um…thank you. That’s very kind.” I must have sounded like a school girl receiving her first A.

“Let me give you my card.” She walked to the wall and dug into a small gym bag, and returned with the promised object. I can still distinctively remember the pleasant scent coming off of the card, and how I gracelessly sniffed at it before blushing and putting my arm down. I believe I saw an amused smile before she said, “my email is listed. Feel free to send me your contact information. I would love to keep a correspondence with you, Mr. McLaughlin.” Even when I reflect on the experience today through the lens of time and maturity, I still cannot deny that her tone was unabashedly flirtatious.

“Will do. Thank you. Um…just call me Rhett. See you around at the…events.” I was quickly realizing that the longer I stayed towering over this woman, the more I would make a fool out of myself. I quickly pocketed her card and abandoned my less than half-finished cardio.

I have to say that I was feeling quite proud for my inadvertent networking achievement obtained through helping the proverbial damsel in distress. I half sprinted through the hallways to return to our room and boast my adventure to my darling.

As soon as I walked in the door, Link sprang from his seat on the edge of the bed and dashed towards me with widened eyes.

“Rhett, there’s been a death.”


	2. Frozen

“What? When? Where?” I was taken aback by how rapidly my morning had taken such a dramatic turn within the less than thirty minutes that I was away from my lover.

“A body was found outside, frozen to death.” He said quietly with wide eyes. As delicate as my best friend may look, he is not one to be easily ruffled, lest it be a thing truly unspeakable. The horror of his discovery evidently shook him to the core. I stroked his sleep-ruffled hair and pulled him to my chest.

“Frozen? Right outside of a hotel? With all the staff and guests around here, there must have been hundreds of people that could have seen something or done something to prevent it…” I thought out loud.

“I don’t know. I just woke up when you kissed me and left and before I even got out of bed I heard this clamor. So I just pulled my clothes on and went to take a look, and people were just running around screaming about a dead body outside.” Link said with his cheek pressed to my shoulder.

“Let me put on something warm and we should go take a look.”

Link nodded. I pulled on my fleece sweatpants over my basketball shorts, threw on a down jacket, and we both hurried out of the building.

As soon as I stepped outside the revolving doors, I felt the residual sweat in my hair being chilled and almost frozen by the wintry breeze. I looked at Link and saw that he was barely shielded from the cold by his hoodie and skinny jeans. I put my arm over his thin shoulders and huddled him to my side. He smiled and reached his arm around my lower back, holding my waist. We walked side by side around the building to the small courtyard in the back.

The accumulated snow had been shoveled off of the paved ground and piled into small hills at the edge of the yard. The clear ground contrasted with the wrought iron picnic tables and chairs which still sported a thick layer of bright white icing. Link and I observed the scene from a distance, taking comfort in the fact that our height allowed us to look over the thick line of spectators held back by the unyielding police tape. Half a dozen officers chatted and paced around the yard, shivering slightly in their windbreakers. Two of the policemen stood next to a yellow tarp pulled taught against a snow pile. There was an elongated bulge straining against the covering, unfortunately indicating only one possibility as to what was concealed. More unfortunately still, the lack of snow on the pavement meant that there would be no trace of footprint left behind by the victim or whoever witnessed the unfortunate soul approaching its cold and tragic end.

I was getting quite frustrated watching from afar, unable to approach the scene or deduct any additional information as to who had passed or how, while the invitees of Sundance began settling into their true elements. Cliques of three or four filming crews started pushing onto the scene, brandishing their fluffy shotgun microphones and squinting behind a wide variety of cameras. In the meantime, we heard another round of police sirens on the other side of the building. A few moments later, crime scene photographers and technicians filed into the yard. Link suddenly turned to stand facing me with his back to the police officers who were advancing to disperse the crowd. I watched my partner pull a small gadget from his pocket and start to peel off the backing from a hefty piece of magic tape attached to it. I saw what the device was and was immediately amazed by how quickly and thoughtfully he had prepared for the situation.

The policemen were getting more agitated, yelling louder and getting dangerously confrontational with the cameramen. Link kept his back to the officers and quickly scanned the space with his eyes. I saw him smile and followed his gaze to a fire escape ladder on the side of the building. The metal edge facing the courtyard was a perfect place to perch the wire-free battery-operated surveillance camera. I walked behind Link, shielding his movements from the officers with my size while he adhered the camera to the metallic surface with a steady and innocuous motion.

As soon as we got back to our room, Link darted to his laptop and turned on the surveillance feed. He remotely adjusted the camera angle and zeroed in on the yellow tarp. In that very moment, two policemen moved to take their place on either side of the covering as if they were awaiting to be filmed. My partner took a deep breath and zoomed in, and the policemen slowly pulled back the concealment over the morbid exhibition.

The deceased appeared to be an elderly gentleman. His pale body lay on its side against the pristine background with his white hair and white beard almost blending into the snow. Considering his nudity, it was almost as if a painter had created an artistically monotonous portrait. Theoretically the body should be within the stage of rigor mortis, but the way that his eyes were smoothly closed, his arms were bent and stacked in front of his face and his legs were curled up and drew in towards his torso made him look oddly relaxed, like a slumbering man resting on soft white sheets.

He would have been the epitomical image of a man welcoming the twilight of his life with grace and inner peace, if not for the drab ropes tying around his wrists and his ankles.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of my best friend’s gasp. I turned and saw him covering his mouth with both hands, squeezing his sharp elbows together. He turned his distraught eyes towards me. “Rhett, that’s Yosef Strauss.”

“Who?” I was very confused. The name did not ring the proverbial bell.

“He’s one of the most brilliant filmmakers of our generation, Rhett. He created the canon works of neo-expressionism in the 70s. I’ve been following his work since I took that film theory class in NC State.”

I suddenly felt guilty. If this was an artist that Link was so deeply interested in, I was probably obligated to know of him. However my lover never ceased to amaze me every day with the extent of his knowledge and the diversity of his interest, and that exact fascination was how I knew that I would always love him. So instead of pestering him as to why he never shared this particular interest with me, I simply rubbed his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“I’m sorry Link. The only way we could help is by trying to figure out what happened.”

Link stared at the moving images of photographers and technicians bustling around the body on his screen and nodded half-heartedly. “We should have gotten a bug too so we can get audio.” He said quietly.

“I don’t think we can get a bug close enough. Nothing of an undetectable size can cover the distance from the police tapes to the body.”

Link took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. For the next hour we watched the investigation from his laptop like it was an avant-garde silent film with no title cards or plot development. Sometimes a technician would squat on the pavement, seemingly picking something up from the ground, but our camera was too far and too low-resolution to capture the exact image as to what he had placed in his evidence bag.  Frustration and impatience quickly got the best of me. I started pacing around in the room, glancing back at the screen every now and then and never seeing anything of sufficient detail beyond the uncovered body. Link on the other hand seemed entirely entranced by the moving pictures in front of him. He leaned forward onto his elbows with his eyebrows knotted in intense concentration.

“Link, we have a panel to attend in half an hour.” I checked the time and reminded him.

“Yeah.” Was all he said, without taking his blue eyes off the screen.

I decided that the most productive thing I could do at that time was to make some coffee. I loaded the coffee maker with one of those gauzy pouches typical of a hotel room, and filled it with water. A few minutes later the glass pot filled up with underwhelming dark liquid. I poured two cups, stirring in the paper pouches of fake cream and fake sugar, and handed one to Link. Normally he would tease me about being “bro-mantic” and reach his lips up for a kiss, but that morning he simply took the cup over and thanked me, eyes still fixed to the computer. I left a kiss on his cheek and entered the shower.

I watched the sudsy water run down my skin and let my mind wander. I thought of our work in the past few days and how we could utilize the experience to expand our resume and network, and also the newly added task of investigating the tragic death of a renowned filmmaker. I thought of how lonely and painful it must have been to take the last breaths of his life on a bed of ice and snow, being stripped of all warmth and dignity. I thought of what might have been in his thoughts in those last moments of cold and darkness, whether it was flashbacks to the most brilliant bursts of creative energy that lit up his life, or despair and sorrow from not being able to escape his wintry grave, having his hands and feet bound by ruthless constraints.  

But then, why were his eyes peacefully closed and his limbs casually relaxed?

All of a sudden, the image of an exquisitely oriental face with warm olive skin and enchanting dark eyes flooded my mind. My thoughts were held hostage in her smile that I thought was beautiful, and her long, lush, raven hair started floating into the air and danced around her complexion in sinuous movements.

The astounding clarity of the image paralyzed me, and I did not realize that I had dropped the shampoo bottle onto the floor until I heard the loud thump.

“Rhett, everything ok?” I heard Link’s concerned voice outside the bathroom door a moment later, and the haunting vision dissipated like a shapeless fog.

“Uh, yeah, I just dropped something.”

“Oh, ok. The police are packing up the scene. I’m gonna go change for the thing and we can continue the research later.”

“You got it babe.” I feigned a confident tone, and quickly rinsed and dried myself.

When I finished gelling my hair and pushed open the bathroom door, I saw Link buttoning down his black and grey plaid shirt over dim grey jeans, and then pulling on a simple black blazer. He fumbled through our suitcases for a moment and pulled out his white bow tie and my narrow black tie. I couldn’t help chuckling at how adorable he had looked standing in front of the mirror putting the bow tie in front of his collar, pulling it away and replacing it with the tie, and then repeat. I strode towards him, plucked the bow tie from his hand and hooked it under his collar. I smoothed everything down for him and enveloped his shy smile with my lips.

I put the black skinny tie on myself over my cobalt dress shirt. Interestingly enough, I specifically purchased the shirt just to see the color cast into Link’s eyes when he looked at me, but every time I put it on, he would always teasingly comment on how flattering it was on _my_ skin and against _my_ hair. But that morning he just stared at me with troubled eyes and a sad smile. The tragedy of the morning was evidently weighing down his mood. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed him softly, and we both took deep breaths to transition into our professional mode.

The panel on branding and promotion through non-traditional media had lasted for longer than we expected, and we lingered after its conclusion to speak to the panelists and attend the reception as an additional networking opportunity. After we finished writing our report memo for headquarters, it was already dark outside. I offered to take Link out for a night on the town, but he insisted that we further our investigation right away. My demeanor during the rest of that night seven years ago must have been embarrassingly petulant. But fortunately I did follow Link’s suggestion, and we quickly changed into thick sweatshirts and puffer coats and drove to the nearby takeout.

When we returned, Link barely took two bites of his food before riveting his eyes to the computer screen again.

“If there’s any silver lining to this, it’s that it happened with a bazillion reporters and cameras around so we can follow the investigation just by being online.” He said eagerly. I pulled up a chair next to him and turned on my own laptop. We flipped and scrolled through various websites of news media and film enthusiasts, and the identity of the victim which he had pointed out earlier was quickly confirmed by the various reports. We also learned that his presence at Sundance was accompanied by his lifelong partner in love and art, renowned stage actor Sir Danett Bardridge. However, given how little time had transpired since the discovery of the body, nothing had been released from the police to the media. We proceeded to browse what little social media information there was pertaining to the two senior artists, and watched all of the interviews in which they had appeared during the past year. I couldn’t help feeling deeply moved by how beautifully the two stately gentlemen with silver hair accompanied each other. Their tender, loving glances and adoring smiles were the epitome of the deepest of affection manifesting in the smallest of gestures. The sheer intensity and longevity of their love was humbling, and worthy of fierce envy.

Naturally, my mind wandered to the inevitable clichés of comparison. I and the beautiful man sitting next to me have similar aspirations of cinematography and lasting love. In forty or fifty years, would we still be by each other’s side, sharing hopes and dreams and glances and smiles, perhaps even satisfaction and pride from what we have created and what we would be remembered by? Even today, I still ponder upon those questions from time to time, and let my mind be captivated by the exquisite fear of uncertainty synonymous with “future”.

But in the meantime, I shuddered to imagine the pain that must be consuming the surviving man.

I turned to Link and could not help locking my arms around his body. Loss is an event that I never wish to contemplate.

“What’s gotten into you?” He turned to me with a confused smile.

“I just…I just _need_ you to be safe.”

“Rhett, I’m sitting in a hotel room looking at my frickin computer, how much safer can I get?”

“Well, Yosef Strauss could have been doing that exact same thing last night before…” I couldn’t continue and simply held him tighter. He wrapped his arms around me and neither of us said anything for quite a while.

When lethargy finally broke my concentration, I tried to persuade Link with kisses and touches to join me in bed, but he simply flashed me an apologetic smile and told me that if he didn’t progress further in the research, it would simply keep him awake even if he laid down. I swallowed my dejection and settled between the sheets. I was able to enjoy a rather restful sleep, only momentarily interrupted by Link’s soft movements when he finally retired and cuddled up next to me. Thankfully, no eerie visions of dark eyes or writhing hair haunted my dreams.

Little did I know that all the peace and quiet I had ever known would crumble to dust on the very next day.


End file.
